Divine Intervention
by Lokiev
Summary: The first time Castiel heard Man speak those words, he nodded to himself and thought, 'this is a prime example of Man's wisdom'.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay. So I'm starting a new fanfiction project (I think I've accumulated a fanfiction writing urge from all the times I've not written anything). **

**Disclaimer: As always, I don't own anything of the characters. I'd be happy to own the Impala, but nope. Nothing.**

**Spoiler: The first time Castiel heard Man speak those words, he nodded to himself and thought, '**_**this is a prime example of Man's wisdom'**_**.**

**Divine Intervention (1/?)**

The first time Castiel heard Man speak those words, he nodded to himself and thought, '_this is a prime example of Man's wisdom'_.

The second time that he thought about that phrase again was when Dean Winchester was placed in his charge. _I shall honor Man's wisdom._

Better safe than sorry.

When Mary Winchester had said that angels were watching over Dean, she wasn't lying, even though she didn't know it. Castiel had startled for a moment when she had first uttered those words, entertaining the notion that somehow, she may have been one of God's Chosen. That maybe, despite the fact that she had made a deal with the demon, it was all for the greater good, and that God had recognized it and given her her reward.

But when she burned in the fiery flames of Hell, the agonizing heat licking up her body with no respite, he knew that God had no reward for her. He watched Dean Winchester hug Sam tightly to his body as he bowed his head with a fierceness that Castiel knew was borne from love, and fled from the burning room, his father's orders chasing him like a hellhound; relentless, intense.

He watched over Dean Winchester with more care since then, abiding by the thought that he would rather be safe than sorry when regarding his charge. Apparently, it was a good idea, and if Castiel hadn't been too busy watching over Dean back then as well as the future to come, he might have taken time off to pat his own back.

The first time he intervened was when John Winchester had almost been killed on a hunt when Dean was sixteen. Castiel did not care what manner of creature they were hunting, as long as they had stayed safe. On that night, though, they were hunting vampires, and John Winchester, for all his near legendary hunting skills, had failed to come through with a fool proof method. Later, Castiel would tell himself that John Winchester was only human, and he could not be expected to be perfect.

The vampires had rounded their backs even as John and Dean closed in on the run down shack that miraculously still stood in the wind as it roared through the trees of the dense woods near a town. John lightly carried an axe in his hand, while Dean clutched his tightly, knuckles white with intensity. They said nothing, and the silence was deafening. His eyes roamed the area, tracking, and Castiel, even from his perch high above, could see the wide whites of Dean's eyes as he strained to see everything and miss nothing. Castiel gave a small smile then; Dean was merely a _child_.

And yet, his steps carried caution that belied his identity as a youth, and instead spoke of his abilities as a seasoned hunter, something which Castiel did not know whether to mourn or be proud of. But before he could further contemplate the thought, the vampires decided that waiting was not their forte.

With the stealth of those that knew the night intimately, a single male, flanked by three females, rushed at John and Dean. If Castiel were to prod their minds, he would have heard gleeful cries of _'they're ours' _and '_we are the hunters! You do not hunt us!'_.

Had it not been for Dean's roaming eyes, both would have their heads ripped from their bodies before they could even comprehend the issue at hand.

'Dad!'

As it was, Dean shouted, and John threw them both to the ground as the vampires flung power punches and snarls over their head.

'Stay down, Dean!'

Castiel leaned forward as Dean fell onto the floor with a loud thump, his heart uneasy.

Before the creatures were able to realize that their target was no longer in their line of sight, John had whipped his axe in a wide arc, severing a leg from its ankle and below. A yowl that shook the night was heard, followed by spine chilling shrieks of fury as their comrade fell and John scrambled to his feet, swiftly bringing down an axe, separating head from body.

Dean lay winded on the ground, and he gathered his breath enough to raise his head just as John was cloaked in a spray of vampire blood, the bright crimson liquid splattering over his face, accentuating the murderous glint that rose in his eyes. His chest rose and fell rapidly with the breaths he took, and John viciously spat out the blood that had found its way into his mouth, the coppery tang of blood staining his tongue. Dean had a moment to think _'c'mon Sammy, you gave up this for college?'_ before a female bore down from him, and he had to roll to a side to escape her clutches. Leaves clung at his hair as he did so, and as he dimly registered it, he thought, _'shit, I look like a fucking clown'_.

A breathless laugh escaping his lips, tinged with what Castiel would think back upon and call 'insanity' escaped Dean's lips, and he scrambled wildly for the axe that had fallen from his hand.

'Dean!'

A call from John caught Dean's attention quick enough, and his breath quickened. The male had John by the throat, and its fingers were tightening, so much so that Castiel could almost see the bruises forming. Rows of teeth were bared before John, and it was only his desperate strength, pushing at the vampire's face that kept the vampire from sinking its fangs into his soft flesh and making him its own personal chew toy. John opened his mouth in a snarl of his own, but Castiel thought absently, that John lacked the teeth to make it too convincing. Added on to the fact that his breath came in gasps through his mouth, Castiel could see the trouble.

Castiel's soul thrummed with power as the anxiety mounted.

All Dean could think about then was a mantra of '_no no no no no_' as he froze on the spot, the vampire behind him all forgotten, his hand a few centimeters from the only weapon he could get his hands on to kill those evil sons of bitches.

_Shitshitshitshit, what should I do, what should I do?_

And then Castiel saw the choices that Dean had to choose from.

If Dean were to pick up his axe and save his father, he may kill one vampire, but the one behind him would strike him down with ease, and Dean would die with his back facing his attacker. If Dean were to let his father die, he would not face favorable odds with a male that killed his father. Moreover, Castiel was certain that Dean would not be very happy were his father to die.

Perhaps 'not very happy' was a mild way to put it.

Those were assumptions, certainly. Perhaps Dean would be able to overpower the male in the rage that Castiel was certain he would fly into if someone he cared about was killed, because Dean loved his family, and Castiel knew it. Perhaps Dean would kill the vampire holding his father in its killing grasp, and somehow manage to scrape past the vampire at his back as well.

But Castiel had not the time to consider that much. And so, he heeded the words that he had held tightly in his mind. _Better safe than sorry._

Quickly, and with the certainty of a battle worn soldier, Castiel made his choice. Gathering his Grace, he moved fluidly from his position beyond the metaphysical plane, to reach into the world of the tangible. With ease, he extended his reach and casually snapped the neck of the male that had John by the neck, and then withdrew with as much ease as he watched the look of utter shock and surprise blossom across the face of John Winchester as the corpse slid down and away from him, sinking onto the ground with a limpness that only death could account for.

As he watched on, Dean reacted as soon as the sickening crack of broken neck bones sounded, and reached for his axe , swinging it hard in the direction of the female, who had placed a hand up in a useless attempt at self defense. Cleaving cleanly through the arm and then through the skull, she collapsed, and Dean slammed the axe on the ground and leaned on it, breath coming through his mouth in heavy pants.

Staring down at the vampire, he saw her mouth open in the scream that he knew would never fight to the surface, and his face spread in a self-satisfactory grin. _Oh, hell yeah._

'You okay, son?'

'Yeah, you?'

John chuckled, but it stopped short, and there was an awkward silence.

'What was that?'

Dean was the one that broke the silence, and for once, John had no explanation, no way to tell Dean what had occurred, because he _simply didn't know._ Dean wore a quizzical look on his face, one that looked to his father and expected an answer, because his dad was a _fucking genius_ when it came to these things, and Dean didn't even entertain the idea that his father would have no clue.

The only way that John Winchester knew how to deal with something that he didn't know was to avoid the subject matter completely, until a time where he had sufficient knowledge and expertise to deal with the matter.

'Let's go.'

And with that, neither of them ever spoke of the event again. Never spoke of the warm feeling that both knew each other felt as Castiel's grace brushed past them and assured their lives would continue. Neither of them spoke of it, because neither of them knew what happened, and couldn't really care. The mission was done, and _they were both alive._ That was what mattered.

Angels were agents of fate. Changing or altering fate was not in their duties. Castiel knew that. For a moment, he pondered if he had done something that might have dire consequences in the future, but thought, '_as long as Dean is safe, all is well.'_

And then he went back to watching Dean.

And that was the first time Castiel interfered in Dean's path of life, and Castiel hasn't ever regretted it. Not then, and never ever.

**Comments are appreciated. Let me know if you think I should continue with this, or just drop it now. :)**

**Okay. So.. I've gotten a couple of responses, so I'm going ahead with the story. ;D**

**Disclaimer: As always, I don't own anything of the characters. I'd be happy to own the Impala, but nope. Nothing.**

**Spoiler: The first time Castiel heard Man speak those words, he nodded to himself and thought, '**_**this is a prime example of Man's wisdom'**_**.**

**This chapter can be said to be a coda to episode S01E16, Faith and S01E22, Devil's Trap. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Divine Intervention (2/?)**

**Same disclaimers apply.  
**

When it happened, Castiel thought he was doing Dean a favor.

When it happened, Castiel was watching over John Winchester, ensuring his safety. Watching as John stalked stealthily into a warehouse, silver knife glinting malevolently in hand as his eyes searched for the shapeshifter that he knew was there. Castiel watched, and he saw the look of determination etched across his features, as well as the cold, hard merciless look that he had grown accustomed to on John Winchester's face.

He was watching over John Winchester, because he knew Dean cared about him.

Castiel had watched, sorrow screaming loudly in his heart as Sam argued with his father, saw the hopeless look in Dean's eyes as he sought to break the argument and reconcile his family. Saw the desperation as he realized that his Sammy was leaving them all behind. Watched as Dean settled into the family business with his father, saw as he did everything he could to make sure that he always had his father's back, never letting it out of sight.

And so, Castiel thought he was doing Dean a favor.

As he watched John Winchester wrap his arm around the neck of the shapeshifter, tearing away the newest skin that it had taken on, Castiel felt a nagging feeling at the back of his mind. There was something wrong. He could feel it.

_Better safe than sorry._

And so he whisked through time and space, tore through the fabric of travel and heeded his instincts, going back to where he belonged, by the side for Dean Winchester.

And when he arrived, he eyes took in the sight, and he let out a cry of anguish, guilt and terror.

Too late, he came, as Dean spasmed as the electricity coursed through his body, currents carried by the puddle of water that he was in. Too late, he watched as Dean twitched in the aftermath of his spasm, mouth gaping open and close in an image of a fish out of water. It was a ghastly comical scene, and Castiel did not appreciate it. Too late, he watched as Dean gave a breath that stank of finality and closed his eyes, slumping against the wall and filth.

'Dean!'

Castiel watched, striken, as Sam came charging back into the place, heading straight for Dean. Castiel held his breath as he watched Sam work his hands over Dean, ignoring Castiel, for he could not see him. And it was then that Castiel felt a stab of sorrow, for no matter how much he helped them both, they could not see him.

But he would help, nonetheless, because that was his purpose.

Sam ran hands over Dean, worried hands, pressing tightly against Dean's chest as murmurs of _come on, Dean, wake up_ passed his lips over and over again. His brows were drawn in a furrow fraught with worry and fear, and Castiel knew what Sam was feeling. And judging by the unfamiliar twinge in his heart, Castiel could possibly be feeling the same thing. And then Castiel took a moment to worry for himself, because he was not supposed to feel.

But then Sam was flipping open his cell phone, and Castiel had no time to worry further as Sam punched in a set of numbers rapidly, and was soon blabbering his location to someone on the other end of the phone – _yes, yes, here, please, please just get here quickly. It's my brother!_

And then it was just a whirlwind of waiting and being whisked away, and Castiel followed closely, eyes on the pale drawn face of Dean Winchester, on the barely moving chest, occasionally moving away to glance at Sam, ensuring that he was fine. Demon blooded child he may be, but Dean loved his little brother, and Castiel knew he would be pleased if his little brother were, so Castiel sought to have his brother well as well.

The hospital smelled of death and things that Castiel did not like. He was a creature of light and hope, and the reaper that he could see at the corner of his eyes did not tug at his favor. It stared at him, and he stared defiantly back, hoping that his light would drive Death away.

And then came another whirlwind, this one where Castiel simply could not understand, no matter how hard he tried. He heard the humans talking about heart trauma, heard their frantic and quick whispers and conversations, but try as he might, he simply could not understand, and that frightened him.

But what he did understand, was when he was standing at the back of Sam, and the doctor told Sam that his brother could not survive for long. And that's when Castiel slumped.

But it lasted only for a moment, and when Sam turned away from the doctor, he felt as inexplicable rush of wind as Castiel spread his wings and took flight. He had frowned then and not understood the origin of the rush of wind, but he later would.

Castiel searched for a way to help Dean, and he simply would not stop. He cast his wings wide and watched the world, determined to find something that would help Dean, that would _redeem_ him from having left Dean alone without his guardian angel, without his celestial protection.

He poured his grace far and wide, seeping into the corners of the earth, listening to the whispers of the wind. And finally, one whisper passed his ears, and Castiel felt a warmth infuse in his heart.

He had found it.

When he had returned to Dean's side, where he felt at place, he had watched Dean sleep for a moment, dragging in laborious breaths, and if he had a physical heart, Castiel was certain that it would have ached terribly.

And then he remembered the purpose of this return, and he looked for Sam, who was not there, but Castiel knew where he would be.

Sam Winchester, the boy genius, the one with the demon blood. Before Castiel arrived at the motel, he was already certain that Sam would be delving into lores and connections, and he was not disappointed. Castiel almost smiled as he laid his eyes on Sam with his finger in his mouth, chewing fingernails absently, and his other hand flipping through pages with an intensity that even Castiel was impressed with.

And then, he moved close to Sam, watched as Sam's head abruptly snapped up, watched as his eyes roamed the room, and when satisfied that there was nothing there, or nothing that he could see or be threatened with, his eyes went back down to his book.

And Castiel reached to a piece of paper that Sam had not yet perused, and floated it over to land right in Sam's lap. Again, a familiar frown drew itself over Sam's forehead; he had not felt a wind, and yet the paper moved. In a flurry of movement, Sam moved himself from the bed, and had his gun in his hand. A gun, Castiel knew, that was full of rock salt.

Castiel stilled for the moment, even as Sam gave calls of _I know you're there, come out, now!. _

And when no response was forthcoming, Sam lowered his gun, and cautiously picked up the piece of paper Castiel had floated over to him, and his eyes crossed the page quickly, and his features lit up. The paper listed an advertisement of a Faith Healer, with a number scrawled over it. A number that Sam quickly recognized as one of Dad's associate's, and he didn't waste a moment snatching up his phone and dialing it with a speed that Castiel would never have thought possible.

Both Sam and Castiel waited with bated breath as the phone rang.

When the phone was answered, Castiel could still see the tension in Sam's shoulders, bunching up his muscles. He could hear the tightness in Sam's voice as he introduced himself and his situation quickly over the phone, and he could hear small snippets of the conversation between him and the other person through the phone.

'So what's this about the faith healer?'

'I... demon work initially... seems to be not... might be real.'

And as he watched, the tension melted out of Sam's shoulder blades, and Castiel saw a small smile blossom over Sam's face, making him look childishly happy, and Castiel simply couldn't blame Sam for that.

And then the phone call was over, and Sam flopped back down onto the bed, his finger in his mouth once more as he contemplated the issue, his head still bent over Dad's journal. And before Sam even knew what he was going to do, Castiel knew it, and he knew that if there was a moment for privacy to be given, this was it. As Sam's fingers hit the number for his father's mobile, Castiel made himself scarce, even as Sam opened his mouth and began with the word 'hey'.

Castiel lingered in the sky as he watched Sam drive Dean to the faith healer. Castiel, being the being that he was, knew, of course, the true face of this faith healer, and for a moment, he felt utmost sorrow that the name of his father was being used in vain, that the name of his father was tied to that of death and not a miracle. But Castiel knew that there were no miracles, because everything inexplicable to humans were not always inexplicable to angels.

But he made no move to stop it, because he knew that Dean depended on that.

And so he felt no doubt and no uncertainty as he watched the man bless Dean, as he watched the reaper transfer another man's life force into Dean's body. He had been told to protect Dean, to watch over him, and he obeyed to the best of his ability.

Even if it meant skirting the line between life and death.

And when Dean returned to the world with a loud gasp, Castiel could hear the strong thrumming of his heart again, a strong heart belonging to a strong man, and he was pleased. Dean would live.

Nothing else mattered, because Dean lived, and Castiel had done his part.

And then it happened again, but this time with a severity that even Castiel knew not what to do, other than keep Dean alive and breathing by infusing him with his grace.

Castiel had not been there when the Impala was smashed into pieces that would make Dean cry in manly horror. But Dean had not cried in manly horror, because said person was in the backseat of the Impala, unconscious, with blood seeping through his hair and onto the seat of the Impala, staining and smearing the window a shade of brilliant red that glinted maliciously under the light of the moon.

Castiel had been in heaven, receiving word from his superiors. They were reminding him of his duty, although he believed he needed no reminder.

But then he had heard Sam's repeated cry of _'Dean? Dean!'_ and he had taken flight without hesitation, and saw the wreckage. His eyes coursed over the metallic scrap that was once a gleaming piece of machinery that Castiel could not understand why Dean adored, but simply knew that he did. He saw the pained expression and heard the grunts of pain that was torn from Sam's throat, saw the rising and falling of John's chest that told Castiel that the man was alive. But then he saw Dean, and everything was just wrong.

He did not see his chest rise and fall, he did not hear sounds of pain from Dean. All he received was a deadly silence.

When Sam shakily reached for his phone to call for help, Castiel egged him on with the power of his grace, brushing power against him, willing him to stay conscious. And Sam did, and he called for help.

Before that help came, Castiel felt the soul of Dean wane, and he became frantic. Unleashing the grace from within himself, he unfurled the large pool of power within him, and wrapped it tightly around Dean, touching Sam and John as well, brushing them with the edge of his power, but embracing Dean within, for it was Dean who needed it most now.

Dean needed him.

It felt good to be needed.

Castiel soothed his soul, cooed to it, and stroked it gently, willing it to stay where it was, within the physical body that allowed Dean to truly live, to enjoy simple and carnal pleasures. And it curled against him, snuggled into the core of his grace like a wounded animal seeking comfort, and Castiel welcomed his soul. Because Dean had the purest, most untainted soul that Castiel had ever seen.

Even when the medics came and Sam shouted out to them in his hoarse voice, Castiel didn't pay them much attention. His grace didn't leave Dean even as they attached medical instruments to his being, and as they rode in the mechanical item that flew them through the sky, Castiel hovered over Dean and kept him breathing.

And when Castiel finally unwound himself from Dean, settling instead for watching over him, he became rather sad as Dean saw Tessa. He could see Death, but he could not see the angel that had kept him from dying. He watched as she spoke to him, and Castiel felt inexplicably protective of Dean, but knew that the danger was not yet present, not just yet.

And when Tessa's true self was finally revealed to Dean, and she made to take his soul, Castiel wanted to step in to stop her, but he knew that a reaper would not be easily stopped. He had considered unleashing his grace and battling a reaper, something that had never been done before, but he had stopped. And then he knew that John would make a deal, one that he would not be able to stop, because those were his orders.

_Guard Dean Winchester. Do whatever it takes to keep him alive._

If sacrifice would keep Dean Winchester alive, then that was what Castiel had to do, no matter how much he did not want to do it, because he would keep Dean Winchester alive. He knew that Dean would not be happy, but Castiel would never tell, and all he could do was hope that Dean would never know. And hope even further that if Dean knew, Dean would forgive.

And so it happened.

Castiel watched John Winchester speak with the demon, watched with a pang in his soul as he handed over the Colt, the one true weapon that would keep the demons afraid and at bay, watched as he sacrificed his life for Dean. Watched as his soul was ripped from his body, and sent plummeting down to Hell. Watched with an emotion akin to regret as he watched the shining bright light of John Winchester's pure soul get tainted with the darkness of Hell as he fell.

But when all that was done, Castiel had turned back to Dean, and had seen only him.

Dean Winchester was alive.


	3. Chapter 3

**So, I'm going to forge ahead with this. :3 I'm always looking for more comments on how I'm doing, so don't be shy to drop a line!**

**Disclaimer: Everything still belongs to Eric Kripke. One day, when I dominate the world, they will be mine. **

**This chapter has traces of the whole Season 3 in it, so if you haven't watched it, consider yourself warned. **

Divine Intervention (3/?)

When Dean sold his soul for Sam, Castiel was there.

In his own intangible form, Castiel could feel something dragging his soul down, and he verified it to be the emotion that humans called sorrow. And yet, Castiel could feel something swelling within him, and he was almost certain that it was something that the humans also called pride.

He could not understand how he could be proud of Dean and yet sad at his made decision, and it was then that Castiel realized once again that he had plenty to learn about humanity.

Perhaps he could learn from humanity as well.

With distaste, he watched as the demon ravaged Dean, watched as Dean had reflected Castiel's distaste in his features. And even so, with his face wrinkled up in what he could only think to describe as disgust, Castiel thought Dean was still the most beautiful human that he had ever seen.

Castiel could not bring himself to think that Dean was to be tainted in time to come, if Castiel could not stop it. Castiel had a heavy burden on his shoulders.

As Dean shoved the demon aside, quickly swiping across his lips with the back of his hand, Castiel spread his wings wide and vast, ready to smite the demon once Dean was no longer around. He saw the smirk on the demon's face as she licked her lips lustily once more, and Castiel felt a flare of righteous anger in his being, his Grace stirring and burning bright in his plane of existence. Castiel knew who held Dean's deal, naturally, and for Dean, he was willing to make the trip to Hell, willing to take taint into his being if he knew it would bring salvation for Dean.

But Raphael had appeared next to them, and whispered words that Castiel obeyed without question.

_'Leave Dean Winchester be. It is his destiny.'_

And so Castiel had frowned, but his wings came folded again. He was certain his Father had His reasons. He would not doubt His will.

When Sam found the demon, for a moment, Castiel felt a wave of despair. Sam and the Colt would not rectify anything. Not here, not now. Castiel watched as the demon taunted, watched as Sam's soul brightened in anger and flickered in something akin to fear when the demon mentioned her mere subordination to someone, something of a greater power. And then Sam's soul burned once more, as he cocked the pistol and fired without hesitation.

Castiel had left Sam then, to return to Dean's side, where he rightfully belonged.

When Castiel arrived, hovering close to Dean, he saw that Dean's eyes were wide open, and that he was staring at the motel ceiling. It was a ceiling that had paint peeling over it, and its corners were covered in moss and things that Castiel did not think was healthy for humans. Nonetheless, Dean had deemed the accommodations satisfactory, making not one sound of complaint, and Castiel trusted his judgment.

Inching cautiously to Dean, Castiel reached out and gently touched Dean's soul, and for a moment, Dean's eyes widened, and he bolted upright, staring around the room, reaching for the knife that Castiel knew always resided under the pillow that Dean rested on.

Castiel withdrew his touch from Dean's soul quickly.

Dean was worried, Castiel knew. And it pained Castiel to know that he could not do anything to help Dean, other than soothe the nightmares that occasionally plagued Dean's dreams.

For the twelfth time since he had met Dean, Castiel felt immensely insignificant. It was something that he had not experienced before, for an eternity before Dean, he had been a warrior of God, a being that was utterly certain and powerful beyond the normal comprehension of any living being.

A minute and twenty three seconds later, Dean visibly relaxed. Scooting back across the bed, Dean rested the back of his head against the headboard, and let out the mightiest sigh that Castiel had ever heard from Dean. In that one sound, Castiel heard frustration, anger, desperation, and a quiet sorrow that Castiel knew Dean would never outrightly articulate.

And then there was the rumbling sound of the Impala outside the motel, and both Dean and Castiel knew that Sam had returned.

Castiel was apprehensive.

The moment Sam entered the room and saw Dean's eyes on him, Sam stared down at the floor in a gesture of apology. Castiel knew that this would only worsen the situation.

And it did.

For the next thirty two minutes and twenty eight seconds, Dean progressed from questioning Sam to quiet accusation, to loud anger. And Sam had responded with equal strength.

'Where the hell have you been?'

'Just out.'

'Yeah? You have a habit of bringing the _fucking_ Colt with you to the toilet too?'

At that, Sam had stared down at the floor, but for just a moment, before Sam surged back up.

'I _had_ to, Dean.'

'You don't have to _fucking_ do anything, Sam! What's the _fucking_ matter with you? You wanna die again? _Is that it?_'

'_You're my brother, Dean!_ I don't care how many times you tell me not to, I'm going to try anyway!'

'Oh, yeah. And how'd that work out?'

Castiel caught a tone in Dean's voice that he might have chalked up to sarcasm, but in there, Castiel heard hope, and Castiel felt another wave of sadness.

Castiel was sure that Sam felt it too.

'She's dead.'

'_Fantastic_, Sam.'

And with that, Dean had turned away from Sam, burying his head in his pillow, and refusing to listen to another word, silently fuming.

On the road later on, they argued further still.

And when Dean asked the question that Castiel knew needed courage to ask, Castiel flitted away from Dean, unwilling to hear the admission from Sam that Dean had not yet been saved.

Castiel knew why Dean argued. Dean was afraid of another loss. Only Dean knew the terms of the contract. Or rather, Dean, Lilith and Castiel. And any other member of the heavenly host who had found Dean's deal important enough to listen in. Which, Castiel knew, included at least the archangels.

Sam would die if Dean bended a single millimeter of the deal.

Dean did not want Sam to die.

Not again.

Not ever.

Therefore, Castiel was glad that Sam reciprocated Dean's feelings with the resolution and determination set to break the deal.

Dean had Sam.

That was good.

But as the year drew closer to a close, and Castiel received no further revelation about Dean's future, Castiel began to worry himself.

_Have I neglected my duties? Have I failed? _

And as time went on and Castiel saw Bobby and Sam grabbing at every straw they could find, Castiel reached a final conclusion.

_My inability is only so if I do nothing. I am part of the heavenly host. There is nothing I cannot do. And there is nothing I would not do._

Twenty three minutes before the clock was due to chime, Castiel commenced his descent down into Hell, determined to deter the hellhounds that have been released from their leash, with one target in mind – Dean. Commanded to tear the one soul to Hell, the hellhounds would not relent, for they had no mercy, they had no sentience. They had only the thirst of blood and terror.

Castiel was a beacon of light, and Hell was a place plunged into darkness. Hell had no illumination; there was no dull flickering of light from the cruel wave of fire, for there was no heat forthcoming. Hell, contrary to belief, did not sear the skin and burn the soul with licks of flame. Hell chilled the soul and sent icy blasts of loneliness and stripped every last vestige of hope. It peeled away the humanity from a soul, tore away every last bit of human consciousness as humanity no longer mattered in a place where time was measured in an eternity.

Castiel ignored the freezing cold that clung to his soul stubbornly, and sent a bright pulse of light through Hell, and for the first time in a long long time, the tortured souls within saw light. And like long starved animals, they reached for the light, and hands that had morphed into claws over eternity scratched and scrabbled over Castiel's being. As pain washed over Castiel, the taint reaching into him and destroying the purity that Castiel prided in, the only thing that Castiel had in mind was the fact that he had to stop the hell hounds.

Castiel pushed through Hell, the minutes translated into hours, and through those hours, Castiel fought valiantly. Pushing flashes of his power through Hell, he kept the souls at bay, kept the demons that snarled and headed for him away. Despite that, however, they did not cease their attempts to defile him. The onslaught of demons had no respite, and as time dragged on, Castiel could feel his power waning. And through it all, he could still see the malevolent grins of the demons, and it sickened Castiel.

When Castiel finally felt the presence of the hellhounds bounding towards him, their strides long and seemingly unstoppable, Castiel stopped his advance.

He simply waited.

And there, he gathered his Grace together, gathered it towards his core, and Castiel glowed brighter than before, his power testament to who he really was. And the souls shied away from his brilliance, and the demons cowered before him.

But the hellhounds pressed on.

Forward they leapt, and when they saw Castiel in their way, their jaws snapped open, blood and spit lining their fangs. Their claws extended, their maws aiming mercilessly for Castiel, they knew no boundaries.

Castiel lashed out with his power, and a shriek rebounded across the whole of Hell as a hellhound fell, twitching, behind its kind. And yet, the hellhounds knew not what was fear. Onwards they came, and Castiel lashed out with the force of his Grace, striking every one of them, pushing them to the ground.

But their numbers had no end. For every one that Castiel struck down, another two seemed to materialize in their place. And soon, Castiel felt weariness creeping into his being, no matter how hard Castiel tried to fight it off. And so, Castiel settled instead for ignoring his fatigue.

Fourteen minutes and fifty two seconds before Dean's year was at its end, Castiel heard the unearthly howls of the hellhounds growing in volume, and he knew the hellhounds were desperate to finish their job, to break through Hell and breath on the surface. And he knew that he would not be able to hold them off.

A sudden onset of extreme helplessness overcame Castiel, and he called to his Father.

_Father, please help me. _

And Castiel waited once more, but this time, Raphael did not appear. No one did appear.

And Castiel fought alone.

Hands flinging out, palms extinguishing the life out of the hellhounds, Castiel suppressed a scream as one tore into his left wing, and dragged it down to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, five others reached for Castiel's wings with their teeth, and pain seared through every nerve in Castiel's being. Castiel could feel his tendons being ripped apart, the feathers being brutally stolen from his wings, the bone crunching under the pressure of cruel jaws.

Castiel had known pain, but he had never known agony.

And as Castiel endured, consciousness faded into nothing, and Castiel was left with one last thought as the hellhounds screamed their victory.

_I am sorry, Dean._

When Castiel came to, nine minutes and ten seconds had passed since the hellhounds had ripped the very life from Dean. When Castiel came to, Castiel knew that Dean was somewhere where he was, somewhere in Hell, humanity being slowly torn away from him.

Castiel wanted to go to Dean.

But a light had descended, and the light had Castiel in its warm embrace, and Castiel knew the light, knew the warmth.

'_Michael.'_

Michael did not respond, but he simply lifted Castiel from Hell, majestic wings beating its way to the surface. Not one approached him, for they feared his power, power that radiated from him without Michael needing to exert himself in any manner, and because they already had what they wanted.

They had Dean.

With that knowledge, Castiel buried further into Michael's warmth, and Castiel was grateful when Michael wrapped his Grace tightly around Castiel.

Castiel knew when Michael had broken through Hell onto Earth, for Castiel could no longer smell ashes and dead flesh with every breath that he took. Castiel sensed clarity and purity, and he felt happy, but at the same moment, the happiness felt wrong.

Dean wasn't there.

When Michael set Castiel down onto the soothing earth and Castiel soaked up the graces of Mother Earth, Michael bent down over Castiel as Castiel took in rapid breaths, harsh and loud, pain lancing up his body.

But Hell no longer tainted him, and Castiel was free to accept the gifts of his Father.

A sickening crunching sound could be heard as the bones in Castiel's wings snapped together into the right position, and Michael had to hold Castiel down as he arched away from the ground in pain. Wounds knitted together, the light weaving together in a magical display as they merged with the sunlight beaming down at him from above.

And as the agonizing ache dulled down into something bearable, Castiel's full consciousness returned to him, and Castiel turned his gaze on Michael, a serene presence that anchored Castiel.

'_Michael. I have failed.'_

_'No, Castiel. Your mission has just begun.'_

Castiel shook his head, confusion clouding him.

_'Raise Dean Winchester from perdition. We have work for him.'_

And so Castiel did what he knew how to do best. Castiel obeyed.


End file.
